


You Alone are My Personal Hell

by Stariceling



Category: Welcome to Hell - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Medical Trauma, Mental Health Issues, Psychological Torture, Suicide Attempt, Terminal Illnesses, Weight Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-10 00:46:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2004375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stariceling/pseuds/Stariceling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jonathan dies before Sock can get to him. Sent back to Hell alone, Sock can only struggle with his memories of the one who got away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Alone are My Personal Hell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gibelotte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gibelotte/gifts).



> prompt 34: au where jon dies of a terminal illness before sock can get him to kill himself and he both gets fired and has to spend the rest of his miserable existence in hell alone with the memories of jon's final days echoing endlessly in his mind and thats his punishment for being fired. he always has to remember it when his attention is not focused on just one specific thing. that's the only thing he'd be able to think about anyway, right?
> 
> Lizzie! I'm sorry it took so long to fulfill my promise and write this! I guess all I can say is I hope it's the right degree of painful, and that you like it.

“You’re gonna die, all right. But it’s gonna be because of me.” Even as he said it, even as Jonathan scoffed softly, paranoia pricked needle-fine at the back of Sock’s neck. He blamed the waiting. He wanted someone to decide what was wrong with Jonathan already.

Yet when someone finally did come they didn’t bring anything he wanted. Jonathan had to stay, they insisted, just for a few days. He just needs antibiotics and fluids, the doctors told them. Most patients make a complete recovery if treated quickly. Those reassurances itched at Sock like a portent. The very first thing they said was that most patients recover.

Meaning some don’t.

Sock surfaces from the sea of memory. He feels like he’s trying to tread water in cement shoes. His mind is washed over with images of Jonathan’s face, impassive at the news.

Trying to think back his memories skip and lose time. He can barely remember there were good days. There must have been days when Jonathan was only irritated by his cough. Before that there would have been days when Jonathan wasn’t sick at all. Yet he can’t cling to anything before that morning when he found Jonathan feverish and shaking, so dizzy when he tried to stand his mother had to support him on the way to the car.

Someone called it blood poisoning, but it was worse. Sock listened to the doctors and nurses, drawn to the sound of Jonathan’s name and the word ‘sepsis.’ There was an infection rushing through Jonathan’s blood, killing him from the inside.

Sock opens his eyes wide. He remembers he’s back in Hell, alone. Hell is always better than what waits inside his head. He has to stay awake.

He vaguely remembers he was thrown out of the knife pits earlier. The other demons recognized what he was. They wouldn’t even torture him. They knew better than to give him that sweet distraction, however briefly. No one will give him something to focus himself on.

Not a single scrap of professional courtesy. But then he isn’t even sure he’s a demon anymore. Here he is, suffering for all eternity. He expected this when he landed in Hell the first time, but never to be tortured from the inside out.

When Mephistopheles said he would be fired he had imagined actual fire. Sock latches on to that. He tries to imagine being immolated, burning through the layers of his skin and fat and muscle and down to bone until there is nothing left of him, not even enough to think.

It would be so quiet to not be able to think. A peaceful kind of quiet. Not like the quiet moments that live inside his head, waiting for the slightest distraction to swallow him up.

The hospital was never completely quiet at night. If Jonathan slept he could wander the halls. There was always someone on duty and the ER was never empty. Sock could sit on the reception desk for hours, waiting to see who would come in next. Some were victims of violence, some violently ill.

One girl was brought in with her arms slit wrist to elbow. He would have to remind Jonathan not to tell anyone what he was doing, even to leave a goodbye. It was too risky they would find him in time.

After broken skin and broken bones he could almost think that Jonathan was healthy, because the infection was on the inside. Some nights he couldn’t sleep, and he sat up listening impassively to Sock’s gory stories. Once or twice Sock even watched over him, not moving from Jonathan’s side after he’d closed his eyes.

Jonathan seemed smaller without his usual hoodie. His shoulders and chest didn’t seem to fill out the same way when he was lying on the hospital bed. Funny how much of his frame had just been fluff. Funny how Sock had never noticed that at home.

“You’re getting twice as much exercise here as at home, No wonder you’re losing weight,” Sock decided. Funny, since the short physical therapy sessions were meant to keep him from losing muscle mass while he was bedridden.

Jonathan cracked one eye open and poked him in the stomach. “You could join me.”

“Hey! I’m cute the way I am and we both know it.”

“Cute but deadly?”

As far as Sock was concerned the sarcastic twist of Jonathan’s smile meant absolutely nothing. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” He settled on Jonathan’s bed, basking in the compliment. Cute _and_ deadly, he was never letting Jonathan take that one back.

“That’s hard to believe.”

“Are you trying to get on my good side? Because it’s working.” Sock grinned. He didn’t care what Jonathan thought he was saying, he was flattered and he was going to bask in it. “Maybe I’ll even keep your soul for myself.”

“Why would you even want it?” Jonathan scoffed back.

“Well, you’re. . .” Sock trailed off, looking into Jonathan’s face. His skin was patterned with tiny red dots, like bloody pinpricks. The deep bags under his eyes made them appear sunken in. There were tubes in his nose and arm, trying to pump him full of enough oxygen and antibiotics to live. Nasty bruises decorated his arm and collarbone, reminders of how fragile he suddenly was under his skin.

“You’re kinda handsome,” Sock tried to explain. This wasn’t how his Jonathan was supposed to look at all. He was supposed to be untouchable. He was always attractive in this interesting way Sock couldn’t really define, like he had a face you never got tired of looking at, even with the frown.

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Well, I’ll stop being ridiculous when you stop being ridiculously attractive.”

“You just want me because it’ll take an eternity for you to figure out a good way to torment me.”

Sock darted his eyes down to Jonathan’s hands. If he were tangible he would be tempted to take the clip off of Jonathan’s finger, to see how his heart monitor and nurses would react. He didn’t really want to think about this. There were so many reasons to want to keep Jonathan. He was unexpectedly interesting and approachable and the closest Sock had ever had to a friend. “That’s right. You’re my favorite person in the world. To torment, I mean.”

“And yet you suck at it.”

“I do not! I’m just softening you up for later.”

Jonathan laughed at him, wheezing and gasping as his lungs refused to cooperate, but still a laugh.

Sock smiled at him, but he couldn’t help the way his attention flicked over the little points of red, too many to count. Jonathan was hurt and he didn’t do it and he couldn’t do anything about it.

Those little marks terrified Sock where no amount of blood or gore ever had. Jonathan was bleeding into his skin. He thought of incisions and stab wounds and slit wrists, and here was Jonathan bleeding under his skin and nothing made it stop. All he could do was not hurt Jonathan any more right now.

Is that why he’s being punished now? He did let Jonathan off the hook, just for a little while, but what else could he have done? Jonathan was dying without him. How could he do anything but try to help?

There’s a rumble of a hellfire-primed volcano erupting in the distance. Pure chance or planned by fate, he can’t tell from where he’s standing. Salty ash flutters down and somewhere there must be screaming as it settles into open wounds, but where Sock is it falls soft as snow. It can’t hurt him. All of his wounds are hidden under his skin.

“Jonathan? The night nurse mentioned she’s been hearing you talking to yourself. Is anything troubling you?”

Sock perked up from the end of Jonathan’s bed. He basically lived there now, not leaving unless Jonathan was asleep. He’d spent whole afternoons sharing Jonathan’s headphones, not accomplishing anything, but it was as far away from doing nothing that he could get.

“Aside from the obvious?”

Sock couldn’t help feeling nervous whenever Jonathan was short with someone. He wanted Jonathan to get better faster, not argue.

“Aside from what we’re already treating you for, has something been bothering you? For example, when you have one of your dizzy spells?”

Jonathan gave her one of his impassive looks, then stared down at Sock at the end of his bed. “I see a kid in a stupid hat and he won’t stop talking to me. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Don’t tell her that!” Maybe she wouldn’t believe it. She was giving Jonathan a skeptical look.

“I want you to know it’s not uncommon to experience neurological symptoms, and hallucinations are not impossible, but-”

“I don’t mind. He keeps me company.”

No one seemed to know what to say to that. Sock had to snap his mouth shut.

They probably had enough to deal with just trying to keep Jonathan alive. The doctor sighed, and let it rest at that. “If you feel any aching or stiffness in your head or neck you need to let someone know immediately. And let us know if you encounter any other strange or distressing sensations.”

“Why would you tell her that?” Sock groaned once they were alone again. At least she thought he was a hallucination instead of a demon. No, actually, that was worse. Jonathan calling him a hallucination was uncalled for!

“I just wanted to tell someone about you.” Jonathan shrugged as best he could against his pillow. “It doesn’t make a difference right now. And anyway I have been seeing kind of. . . just black spots, I guess. Close enough.”

Sock was pretty sure Jonathan should have told them that, but he was distracted by everything else Jonathan had said.

Jonathan said he didn’t mind. He wanted someone to know about Sock. Maybe he was even enjoying Sock’s company a little.

Sock bites down on his tongue, but he can’t even taste his own blood. It isn’t fair. Why does he have these echoes of Jonathan to punish him, drowning out everything else? He tried so hard to do his job. Maybe he was nice to Jonathan, but that never meant he didn’t want him dead.

He was so close. If he just had another chance he’s sure he could have done it.

“Hey, Jonathan? You really should kill yourself.” Sock perched at the end of Jonathan’s bed. He couldn’t stop watching his slack face, wondering if the thin slits of blue peeking from under heavy eyelids could even see him. Jonathan looked like he wasn’t here anymore.

“Give it a rest,” Jonathan groaned at him. “You can’t just wait a few days?”

“I mean it. You need to kill yourself before you die.” Sock fidgeted with his goggles, trying to find a position that didn’t nag at him. “You should come with me.”

“You mad this is killing me before you can?”

“I’m serious! I don’t want you to just disappear or whatever you’re going to do when you die. I want to take you with me!”

“Sock-”

“Hell isn’t that bad. You’d be okay there. You wouldn’t be sick anymore. Plus I would be there with you.” Sock stumbled with his pitch there. His deadline was so close, and he still didn’t really know what Jonathan wanted in an afterlife. “It wouldn’t hurt to hang out for at least a little bit of forever, right?”

Jonathan was silent, eyes closed and breathing slowly. Sock leaned closer to peer into Jonathan’s face. Was Jonathan watching him through his lashes?

“Go tell me if someone’s about to come in.”

“Why-”

“Do it or I’ll change my mind.”

Sock drifted to the door to keep lookout, but he couldn’t help glancing back at where Jonathan had hauled himself up to mess with his saline drip. By the time he fell back he was panting. His eyes fell closed again.

Sock darted back to his side. He hovered, studying Jonathan’s face first. Just that much exertion left Jonathan having to catch his breath. Then again, that was all he needed. There was an air bubble in the tube leading to Jonathan’s arm.

“Don’t watch it,” Jonathan ordered. His soft panting stole the edge from his voice.

It was easy to focus on Jonathan’s face instead, difficult not to crow with triumph. He couldn’t stop his grin. He finally had Jonathan. “Are you scared?”

“Not really.” Jonathan muttered, tone so flat Sock actually believed him. “I should have asked if this would hurt.”

“I don’t know. Probably,” Sock admitted. “But when it’s over, you’ll be all mine. Nothing will have to hurt again.”

Jonathan let out a soft huff of laughter. “Yeah, right.” Before Sock could argue his case, he added, “Hey, Sock?”

“Yeah?”

Jonathan looked into his eyes, making him wait until he was stretched forward eagerly. “Never mind. I’ll tell you when I’m dead.”

“Hey! Why can’t you tell me now?”

“It’s the kind of thing it’d be wrong to tell you right before I die.”

“Well, you’d better be ready to tell me because pretty soon it’s gonna be right after you die!”

The bubble was down under the tape now. The intended killer had slunk too close to be stopped. Electricity ran through Sock’s skin. He braced himself on all fours over Jonathan, as if someone else might swoop in and try to take his prey.

“What am I gonna do with you?” Jonathan teased weakly.

“You should be more worried what I’m gonna do with you.”

Jonathan’s breath bathed his face in a weak puff of a laugh. “That’s the last thing I’m gonna worry about.”

In the next breath Jonathan gasped. He breathed as if struggling to suck in air, his mouth and eyes wide. Sock’s rush, almost as good as stabbing his knife through a beating heart, mingled with the disquiet at of watching Jonathan in pain.

He wasn’t the only one to watch Jonathan dying. A rush of unwanted rescuers smashed their private moment. Hands reached through Sock to manhandle Jonathan. They made Jonathan keep breathing, forced his precious heart to keep beating. They ripped him from Sock’s hands and back to the land of the living.

They didn’t hear Sock screaming curses down the hall. Not even Jonathan heard. “How could you do that to him!? He was so close! You made him be in pain for nothing!”

“He wanted to come with me!”

Sock hears his own scream echo around him, a reminder it’s Hell outside and not just in his head. He stares up at flashes of hellfire in the sky, trying to focus on them. Think of anything else. Think of dragons breathing green flame. Think of pitchforks and torture. Think of rioting souls.

Would Jonathan have been happy, if they hadn’t pulled him back then? He had been so close. Why didn’t that count? It wasn’t his fault Jonathan hadn’t died the way they wanted. He had done his job. Jonathan had wanted to come. It wasn’t their fault, so why. . .

“Jonathan, do you know what a pulmonary embolism is?”

He didn’t answer. Sock, curled up between Jonathan’s feet, looked from Jonathan to his doctor’s stern face and back again.

“It’s what happens when something cuts off blood flow to your lungs. In this case, an air bubble. This is a very serious matter, Jonathan. Someone tampered with your IV and you could have died because of that. I want to hear your side of the story.”

“Honey.” Jonathan’s mother reached out, laying her hand over his. “You need to talk to us.”

Jonathan curled his hand automatically around his mother’s. The guilty flick of his eyes to focus on anything but her tired face probably told them all they needed to know.

“I want one of those do not resuscitate forms.”

“Jonathan!”

All Sock could focus on was Jonathan’s impassive frown, the worry lines on his mother’s face deepening in grief, her hands trembling and eyes tearing.

“Jonathan, tell me you didn’t do this to yourself.”

“Do what? If you let me die it would just be getting it over with a little earlier.”

“You are not dying. You can still-”

“Nothing is working. There’s no point.”

“You don’t know that!” Jonathan’s mother grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him into her arms. “You’re going to be okay. You’re my baby. I don’t want you to ever hurt yourself.”

“I think I’m old enough to make this decision.”

“No, you’re not. And I’m not signing anything telling someone to just let you die.”

“Mom,” Jonathan groaned. Like his mother had just forbidden him going to a concert.

“You need to hang in there so you can get better. _Please_.”

It took Jonathan a moment to answer, breathing hard and hiding his face. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should have been here. I should have known.”

Jonathan shot a glance towards Sock and his frown tightened. Sock realized he was up on his knees, arms tucked up to his chest like a skittish squirrel, every last nerve strung tense. The whole scene was so alien. Jonathan’s mother just kept holding him, promising they would do everything to make him better.

“Can you not,” Jonathan hissed in his direction.

Sock was aware of the doctor studying Jonathan, studying the spot where Sock was, though of course she couldn’t see him.

“Jonathan, you told me you were seeing a boy earlier. Does he still talk to you?”

Jonathan tensed. Sock held his breath, because what had he done since the first moment they met? Jonathan was going to say all kinds of horrible things about him.

“This wasn’t his idea.”

“Did he ever encourage you to hurt yourself?”

“It wouldn’t matter if he did. It’s not like he can make me do anything.”

“Please, answer the question. Has anyone told you to hurt yourself?”

“No.” Jonathan struggled to sit up instead of leaning against his mother, lying through his teeth.

“Jonathan, I want you to understand: I have to look at this as a symptom that would need treatment if it’s hurting you in some way.”

“No!”

“Please, calm down. We won’t do anything without your consent, but I need you to at least consider-”

“I need him. You can’t take him away from me!”

‘I need him.’ Precious guilty pleasure shot through Sock’s heart

Pain shoots through Sock’s knees. He stares dumbly at the ground. He had been walking. When did he start walking? Was he sleepwalking again? Perhaps he was looking for something to kill.

Sock forces his way back to his feet so he can keep walking. The only landscape he has now is barren rock that cracks and flakes apart under his feet. Sulfurous fog blots out the horizon and stings in his eyes like tears.

If he walks long enough maybe there would be scenery. Maybe there will be something else to think about.

Think about anything else, Sock chants in his head. Look down at the rust-red rock. Find pictures in the cracks. Here’s a beheaded bunny, there a smashed guitar.

The hot winds of Hell press into his face. If he was still human it would have scorched his skin raw, yet all he can think about is warm, living breath. He can feel Jonathan’s breath warm on his face again.

They put Jonathan on suicide watch. They took away his privacy. They left him no opportunity for escape.

He spoke with Sock openly. Within hours he was ignoring each personal check they made on him, even while Sock was still struggling to adjust.

Once when he thought Jonathan was dozing he crept away from the bed. He could go talk to Mephistopheles about other options. Jonathan had wanted to die, but he needed a little help to make that possible. There had to be something Sock could do in this case.

“Don’t leave me.”

Sock whipped around to stare at Jonathan. His mouth hung open in shock. That was the one thing he could never picture Jonathan saying to him.

“Please,” Jonathan added.

“I thought you didn’t like me talking to you when other people are around.”

“They already think I’m crazy. It’s not like it matters anyway.”

“Do you think you’re crazy?” Sock tugged at his hat, almost afraid to hear the answer. Jonathan wasn’t quite himself sometimes, lost and confused as even his brain was strained by the infection in his blood. Jonathan’s fear that they could take him away didn’t mean he didn’t believe in Sock, right? “Do you think I’m just in your head?”

Jonathan took a moment to study him and Sock felt his heart sink. His veins might have been filled with lead, weighing him down so he couldn’t move.

“I can’t even imagine making up someone like you.”

“Hey,” Sock protested, but he grinned.

“Hey yourself. Come here.”

Sock floated trustingly right up to Jonathan, only to be grabbed by his vest and pulled close. With difficulty, Jonathan rolled onto his side and Sock found himself trapped against the mattress, warm breath washing over his face as Jonathan’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“What if I sell you my soul. Can you do anything with that?”

“I don’t know how to do that. What would you even sell it for?”

“Make me better.”

“I don’t think I can do that.”

“Kill me.”

“I would if I could.” If he could make a demonic contract there had to be more to it than this. Sock didn’t even know where to start.

Jonathan’s hand wrapped loose around his arm. His head dropped. “Make my mom forget me.”

“How. . . ?”

“I don’t care how. She’s struggling so much because of me, and it’s not going to change anything. Make her forget about me. Make it stop hurting her. That’s all I want.”

Sock would have done it all for Jonathan’s soul, if only he knew how.

Sock is only jarred out of his memories when he hits the ground. He claws at the broken rock under him, but he can’t drag himself forward. He can’t get anywhere.

He broke his promise, but he promised the impossible. “Damn it, Jonathan. How could anyone forget you?”

Why can’t he remember the good times? He’s sure there were good times. Jonathan being a stubborn ass, laughing at Sock’s stupid jokes, playing his music way too loud, and just carelessly living his life. Why can’t he remember anything but. . .

Jonathan breathing slow and shallow, too weak to fight anymore. He felt so close to death Sock half expected to be able to see through him any moment. So close and yet inching farther from Sock every minute.

His fingers curled in a beckoning gesture. Sock cautiously inched closer until he was practically laying on the bed beside him.

Jonathan lifted an arm to drape over his shoulders. Jonathan’s eyes held his, his fingers curling at Sock’s back.

“I’m not gonna leave you alone,” Sock promised. “You’re stuck with me.”

He was sure Jonathan smiled at him. He was sure there were words in the soft huff of Jonathan’s breath. He would stay with Jonathan, no matter what.

He counted every precious, peaceful breath as Jonathan slept.

In the moment when he strained to hear that next breath, Jonathan’s arm fell through his body. He knew Jonathan was dead before he heard the flatline.

“Jonathan!” Sock pushed his hands into Jonathan’s chest, feeling for some lingering scrap of his soul. He couldn’t just disappear. Not after Sock had promised not to let him get away.

He wasn’t in Hell. He’d escaped before Sock could finish the job.

He had to be somewhere out of reach. Maybe purgatory. Was there somewhere like purgatory? There must be some quiet, boring crack between the planes of the afterlife where Jonathan would be happy. Without him. Jonathan wouldn’t even notice he was gone.

“Stop thinking about him,” Sock groans, pressing his face into his arms.

He has to think about anything else. Think about stalking squirrels and cutting through thin grey fur to uncover their visceral charm. _Would Jonathan have hated him, if they met before?_ Think about his parents insisting nothing was wrong with him and then turning on him when he got in trouble. _Would Jonathan have thought he was okay, if they met then?_ Think about how happy he was in that moment when he thought he could finally kill people. Hang on to that last moment before Jonathan. _Would Jonathan had liked him, if he’d been anyone else?_

Every corner of his mind is painted with images of only Jonathan. Dying, dying, dead.

All he can think about is that first trip to the emergency room, before they even knew why Jonathan was so sick. He can see Jonathan slouched in the bed while they waited for a diagnosis. There was a skin-crawling tension in the air that even Sock’s intangibility couldn’t save him from. He should have known then.

Only Jonathan hadn’t felt what was coming. “It’s not like I’m gonna die or anything.”


End file.
